


something will be here

by clumsyclouds



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Caleb Widogast Has Issues, Canonical Character Death, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ghost Mollymauk Tealeaf, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Caleb Widogast, Sad Caleb Widogast, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27913948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clumsyclouds/pseuds/clumsyclouds
Summary: a collection of snippets from right after molly's death up until they visit his grave after rescuing fjord, jester and yasha. caleb has a difficult time dealing with everything, and an unexpected soul comes to help him along.
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Kudos: 20





	1. regretting

**Author's Note:**

> full disclosure: at the time of posting this (6th of december 2020) i am only on episode 33 of the campaign, but i've had such a hard time to deal with molly's death that i wrote this piece and i felt that it needed to be posted. 
> 
> in conclusion: no spoilers in the comments, please!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _thought i'd hide  
>  maybe leave something secret behind  
> never thought i'd sing outside  
> you need me, rest easy  
> i'm here, how weird_
> 
> alan - perfume genius

“You know, I have never met a man who insists so strongly that his heart is made of iron and ice when really it’s made of feathers and gold. Most people spend their whole lives trying to convince everyone of the opposite.”

Mollymauk stands on one of the smaller boulders with impeccable balance, glancing over the landscape, well, rather the bushes and trees of the green forest they’ve set up camp in. His hands stay locked together at his back, not needing them to stay balanced.

“Have I not been persuasive enough, then?” Caleb asks, staring rather calmly at the characteristically eccentric and jolly figure. 

Something about the image seems wrong, though he cannot exactly place his finger on it right away. It could go either way, but he has simultaneous feelings of there being something that isn’t supposed to be there and something that is missing. Caleb pokes at the fireplace with a stick and sends a few embers floating up towards the dark night sky where the hint of twinkling stars can be made out through the canopy.

“No, you have not, my dear Mr. Caleb,” he says, “I see you. Every move you make and every word you say shows your hand clearer to me by the day.” He gracefully hops down from the little boulder and twists around the encampment with his usual flourish, making occasional glances at Caleb with a sly smile. Something terribly sad hides behind it. 

“Will you not leave me alone?”

It hits him then. He remembers a branch in the mud, a rainbow colored coat dangling with the wind and snow. There’s a large earthen cat’s paw, tarot cards, a golden scimitar. He’s remembering things in the wrong order, but without a doubt, he knows where he is, and he knows what exactly is wrong with the image standing before Caleb in this cold night.

“I am your regrets. I cannot leave. I could’ve been Astrid, or your father, mother, someone else, but you know why it’s me, don’t you?” Molly grabs the lapels of his coat and straightens them out, sitting down next to Caleb on the short log. 

Their shoulders bump together and he feels warm and cold at the same time. He's warm to imagine that he could feel the touch again, and cold because everything is hollow, and once more he lets the ice spread throughout his chest like the familiar infection it is. It serves as a reminder never to care, never to get involved. Even though the reminder has never seemed to work, he still cannot let go of it.

“If you are a figment of my imagination, a representation of my greatest regrets, then why would you sing my praises? If you are what you say you are then we both know I have no such kind words left for myself.”

Molly’s lips quirk into a curious smile. “Maybe it’s more. Maybe it’s really me?”

“Then what are you? My imagination? The spirit of Mollymauk Tealeaf? Divine intervention? You cannot be all three.”

“Says who?” he quips and giggles. “Maybe those are all the same thing? You never know really, maybe before I was Molly I was a god, maybe I’m in your mind now, maybe I’m alive somewhere, coming to you now with a magic spell.”

_That would be nice, now wouldn’t it? Very, very nice._

“I’m prone to losing my mind, so I have my suspicions.”

For the first time during Molly’s entire visit or haunting or whatever word is most appropriate, he looks sad. He even looks ancient. That must be the effects of the afterlife and visits to this world, if such is indeed the nature of this encounter. “I wish I could tell you the truth.” 

“Because you know the truth and cannot tell or because you wish you knew?” 

Molly doesn’t answer the question and instead takes slow twirling steps back into the trees, perhaps he is called back to whatever place he came from. “Goodbye, Caleb Widogast.”

“Will you be back?” he asks, much like a young, naive little boy who’s afraid of loneliness. In some ways that is exactly what Caleb is on a bad day. Today is one of the worst.

Molly waves away the concern with a scoff and a hand before fading further into the leaves, and Caleb thinks he can spot the faintest traces of see-through as he disappears further. 

“Always. I’ll always be there when you need me.”

Caleb wishes desperately for it to be true. It hits him then, that in the future it will be. In the future, there will be no more regrets, Mollymauk will be real beside him, and he will take the tiefling to visit a modest house on the outskirts of Blumenthal where a mother and father live. Then, everything will be alright. 

Until then, he waits, glancing longingly for the maroon and rainbow coat and lavender horns that leave him in the dead of night. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so alone, not for a long time.

“I need you _now_ ,” he whispers. 

The quiet seems to rush over him and he throws another log of wood onto the fire before going to wake Keg for the second watch. She looks him over, seems to see the haunted look in his eye and nods, taking his place by the fire without a word.


	2. teaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i'm tired of wanting more, i think i'm finally worn,  
>  for you have a way of promising things  
> and I've been a forest fire, i am a forest fire  
> and i am the fire and i am the forest and i am a witness watching it  
> i stand in a valley watching it, and you are not there at all_
> 
> a burning hill - mitski

“I will join you in a minute, Nott. Go down to the others. I have to pack the last of my books.”

“We’re not coming back here then?”

Caleb pauses in his packing and shrugs. “All I know is that this place is lawless and my books are invaluable.”

She hesitates by the door, one hand on the doorknob. “Alright. Just don’t be too long. We have friends to save.”

“ _Ja._ ” 

Then he is alone, only the soft rustle of leather and fabric to keep him company as he locks his books into place, taking the few other belongings he has to put in the haversack. He’s been travelling with the Mighty Nein for so long that he’s forgotten what it’s like to travel light. Very inconvenient, is what it is, now that they are only three plus two stragglers. Is that how it will be? Will the Mighty Nein keep getting replaced until nothing remains of those who began it? Caleb tries not to think about it, or at least pretend that the answer does not matter to him, but he cannot stop the shivers. 

“Why won’t you ever just say the words? It won’t kill you.”

Caleb whips his head around to find a maroon-and-rainbow-clad, lavender tiefling leaning against the wall right by the window, arms crossed with a smirk curling his lips upward. 

“You again,” he mutters.

“I’ll try my best to not be offended.” He moves forward and squats down next to Caleb who still tries to ignore the imposing presence. “Now answer my question.”

“If you’re in my head then you already know.”

Molly chuckles, standing back up and strolling around the room, still at a leisurely pace, as if nothing was wrong. Caleb knows that everything is wrong, so, so horribly wrong. Nothing was supposed to be as it is now. Not his life, not this mission, not Jester, Fjord and Yasha, not Molly, _especially_ not Molly. 

“And I thought we established that we don’t actually know if I am in your head.”

Caleb sighs. For a brief moment he considers being candid, but either this figure, creature, or if it is indeed Molly, already knows the answer, or it doesn’t and Caleb can continue keeping his feelings well-guarded. He’s been so bad at doing that lately, but if he can win against this representation of his regrets, as it had been said, then that would be one victory, at least. 

“And what’s the prize?” Molly asks softly, at once squatting by his side again. 

Caleb flinches. “So, you _are_ in my head?”

Molly ruffles Caleb’s matted hair. “No, you were talking out loud.”

He strongly doubts that, but frankly, he thinks there’s no point in arguing with ghosts. 

Quietly he hums. Yes, whatever the specifics were surrounding Molly’s presence, the word ghost seems the descriptor best fitting. Either it is a ghost of his head or the true ghost of Mollymauk Tealeaf coming to haunt him, and only him it seems. It’s rather unfair that he should be the target, he thinks while snapping a book shut. The impact immediately sends him gently stroking over the back and spine of the book, hoping it did not sustain any damage.

“Say it out loud. Please.”

He turns his head at a rapid pace, frustration and anger flaring up in a flash. “Why? What is the point, Mollymauk? Who gains _anything_ from it, hmph? Tell me.”

He pauses for a moment, as if confused, and tilts his head. “Did my death not teach you anything?”

“What?”

“No, I guess it’s been too soon for that thick head of yours, huh?” He pokes Caleb’s forehead and then smiles, stroking some strands out of his eyes and holding his cheek. The touch is still warm, as if he were in the room, as if he could be real. 

Caleb hates it, wants to sink into the ground, wants time to stop, wants it to last for a moment longer. 

“There’ll be time for this later, dear,” he says and presses a light kiss to Caleb’s forehead. 

His eyes close for the briefest moment, but when he opens them the room is empty again, and colder. He wraps his coat tighter around himself and swings up the rest of his things onto his back before locking the door and heading downstairs. There’s a long day ahead.


	3. doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _be still and know that i am here  
>  be still and know that i'm with you  
> be still, be still, and know  
> when darkness comes upon you and colors you with fear and shame  
> be still and know that i'm with you, and i will say your name_
> 
> be still - the fray

Loud explosions, screams of pain and anger, shaking walls, heavy breaths. It’s all Caleb can hear with his hands slammed tightly over his ears. Every minute or so he peeks his head out to make an attempt at turning the tide of this battle, but his vision is blurry and he misses his target half of the time. A little voice in his head taunts him, telling him that it’s over, they’ve failed, they’re going to die, and with each passing second he believes it more and more. 

What a fool he is. He could’ve run long before Molly even died, maybe even long before anyone got captured, maybe before any of them met. Would things be better that way? He cannot tell any longer.

“Caleb.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but he feels a cool forehead touch his heated one and a hand fall upon his cheek, thumb gently stroking over the marred skin. 

“Molly.”

“You’re about to die, am I understanding that right?” 

The question is rather blunt, and for a blink in time he’s stunned, but the screeching noise of metal against metal brings him out of it and he nods.

“And our friends are all gonna die, too, correct?”

He inhales, trembling and shallow. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He chuckles. “Then I have one question left for you, Caleb Widogast.”

“And what is that, Mollymauk?”

There’s a moment’s pause, anticipation, contemplation, decision. Then, a deep breath and airy laughter. 

“What are you going to do about it?”

Caleb opens his eyes and finds himself alone in the stairway, but he doesn’t have time to mourn it and instead launches with what final strength he has left a mote of burning fire into Lorenzo. It curls around, sinking into his skull and scorching every last piece of that bastard to the ground. The flames lick at his screaming body and then at his ashen corpse. The memories of his past threaten to swallow him, but this time he can overcome it, finding something much more important to do. He tumbles down the stairs, and then they’re okay. Everyone is okay. No more deaths. They’re alright.

“We’re fine,” he says to no one in particular, and then he has a handful of blue tiefling in his arms.


	4. caring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _and telling the truth the best way that i'm able  
>  i'm placing my cards all face up on the table  
> it's okay to be scared, you don't have to act tough  
> just take all that pain and turn it into love  
> take all that pain and turn it into love_
> 
> fire - kimya dawson

He stares up at the dimly lit ceiling, a heavily breathing Yasha lying next to him. She looks so concerned even in this deep slumber that something hurts in him. Yasha didn’t deserve this, that’s what he thinks. A few minutes later he takes his coat, folds it up into a bundle and gently places it under her head, making sure the braids are placed in a neat manner. He opens his waterskin and pours a few drops onto the end of his shawl, then begins dabbing away at some smudges of blood in her face.

“I’m sorry, Yasha,” he whispers, “I’m sorry we couldn’t save him.”

She doesn’t shift except for with Caleb’s careful touches, but with some time, her features seem to relax. The crease disappears from between her brows, the corners of her mouth even out and finally, she looks like she is at peace. He hopes that she dreams of something nice. _That’s_ what she deserves.

“And you still want to pretend that you don’t care.”

Caleb looks up, finding Molly sitting on the floor by the opposite wall. His back leans against it, his arms crossed. There’s that smirk on his face again, the one that always seems to be there, but like the first time this ghost came upon him, there is something sad in his look again. The eyebrows are slightly knitted together, a trembling in his lower lip, barely visible. His fingers restlessly drum on his upper arm the way they used to, but hastily and without rhythm. 

“I never said I don’t, only that...” He takes a deep breath. “Their deaths would have been a waste.”

“Wrong.”

Caleb thinks back to the grave. To Nott. She had looked at him with such intent and anticipation, just like Molly is doing now, saying the same exact word. There’s some wry humour to his situation, since he left that asylum there had been one thing on his mind and one thing only. A singular goal. He would find people who could get him to that goal and they would be tools, a means to an end, and he would move past them until he reached the height he needed to reach. 

Then there was Nott. He began thinking of keeping her safe as well as himself. There was no reason, none at all, she was a burden by all accounts. Until she wasn’t. 

Then, the Mighty Nein changed everything. It’s like he’d been shoved into the world, forced to live and breathe and he’d forgotten how so he had to relearn it all, and they slowly taught him. He only just started breathing, only just started being a person again, and it was all thanks to them. 

“I...don’t love them.” His hands begin trembling. He clenches them into a fist then then relaxes again. “At least, not yet, but I will, soon, and that’s the truth.” 

“Then stay, please.” He clears his throat and moves up, getting on his knees beside Caleb and Yasha. 

His demeanor has lost all semblance of the teasing, smug look from only a few moments ago. The trembling in his lip has grown, a tear seems to push through, not yet falling. All the ancientry of an immortal being, all the smugness of Mollymauk Tealeaf at his best seems faded, and beside Caleb sits a man, frightened of being forgotten, longing so much for those who live on after him to be happy. For a brief moment, Caleb has no issue believing that whatever and whoever sits with him is the real spirit of his fallen friend.

He looks down, hands resting limply in his lap. “I will lose them now, did you know that, Mollymauk? I always lose the ones I love.”

“You never said it to me, and you still lost me.”

He sighs, closes his eyes, suppresses the burning in his eyes and the lump in his throat. “But it hurts less.”

Molly places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, saying softly, “Does it?”

Caleb doesn’t cry, but there is a pain in his chest, so deep that he thinks he could fall into it and not come up for a very long time. It's a chasm that threatens to swallow him whole, to uproot all the progress he hopes he has made since he was finally freed from it. If it weren’t for the people he relied on, that relied upon him, he’d fall head first. 

“No.” He opens his eyes, turning to Molly. “You know, I thought sometime in the future, I thought maybe we could be something. A long time from now. _Wie albern._ ”

“I thought so, too.” A tear falls silently down his lavender cheek. 

Then they are wrapped up in a warm embrace together, and they stay there for a long, long time. Caleb’s face is burrowed into the crook of Molly’s neck. The scent is so potent, lavender and something rich that he cannot place. _It must be real,_ he thinks, _how could this not be real?_ He savours every bit of it, thinks it so precious that forgetting would be a crime. Not for a long, _long_ time has he had contact quite so close and enveloping, and he wishes it would never end. 

But of course, everything must come to an end, just like Molly’s life did. Without noticing the shift, his arms catch at nothing and everything is still and silent except for the hint of words and footsteps above him. Even though the burning in his eyes has not ceased, he smiles, thinking of the people that are upstairs, the people that he saved, the people that saved him.

As he moves to lean back against a wall his hand catches on something. He lifts it and finds a fine little silver charm in the shape of a crescent moon. Tiny little diamonds or at least shiny rocks seem embedded along the entire front and a teal gemstone shaped like a teardrop or perhaps a drop of water hangs beneath it by two tiny chain links.

“No,” he mutters to himself in utter disbelief, examining it closer. 

The charm is one he recognises from the jewelry on Molly’s horn and he breathes in sharply. For a moment he doubts, wondering if it belonged to one of the guards or perhaps one of the Iron Shepherds. It could be Nott’s, but...it couldn’t. This was a very unique piece of his entire ensemble, like most accents he wore.

Caleb scoffs to himself, for one with such a short history he always seemed so full of it, nearly filled to the brim, in fact. The tattoos, the jewelry, the wildly unique clothes, the swords. Maybe that’s why he had to go so early. To think he built himself a more fulfilling life in two years than the rest of them have in thrice that amount is completely wild, mind blowing and absolutely wonderful.

“You were more alive than any of us have ever been,” he whispers, eyes fixed on the charm, half-expecting Molly to be there to answer.

The charm, of course, poses the question of how it got into Shadycreek Run when Molly didn’t even make it out of the Empire. Had Caleb accidentally snagged it while burying him? It’s an unlikely possibility. Had Nott stolen it and then dropped it? Beau? He looks around, seeking any sign that a person had been there, but he can find none except for the traces him and his friends left.

The chance that it...well, it is a small one, but he must admit, he’s heard of stranger things.

He sniffles and shoves the charm into one of his coat’s inner pockets. Its presence reminds him of his own heartbeat, and it’s strangely comforting to know that in there somewhere he is still alive, still a living person when for a long time, he thought he was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wie albern = how foolish/how silly


	5. healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _it well may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime  
>  so, let me say before we part, so much of me is made of what i learned from you  
> you'll be with me like a handprint on my heart  
> and now whatever way our stories end,   
> i know you have rewritten mine by being my friend_
> 
> _who can say if i've been changed for the better,  
>  but because i knew you i have been changed for good_
> 
> for good - kristin chenoweth, idina menzel

Caleb has already begun finding the trees and bushes familiar. They’re close to the grave now, he can feel it. Most parts of him dread this stop, but he knows that Fjord, Yasha and Jester deserve it. In some ways, he wants closure, too, but in other ways he still hopes that there is something to be done, some spell, some miracle, something, _something._ Somehow the thought of Molly being well and truly dead is unthinkable, or at least implausible.

“So, did you figure it out?” Molly asks.

He nearly jumps out of his seat and turns his head to find Molly sitting besides a sleeping Beau. He is smiling, but not smirking. Everything about his presence seems more mellowed out compared to their other meetings. Caleb would question it, he would worry that Beau might wake, but he doesn’t, perhaps already so used to Molly’s sporadic presence and the surety that seems to be that no one ever sees their interactions. It’s only too bad he will once more have to get used to never seeing him.

“Figure what out?” he asks.

“Did you figure out why I’ve been here, why I’ve been with you?”

He pauses for a long while. The words rest at the tip of his tongue, ready to be spoken. He’s been ready for a while, or at least since they last saw each other, but nothing comes. A lump forms in his throat, bitter. He’s familiar with bitterness, he’s used to it. Most days bitterness does not bother him one bit, if he even notices that it’s there, but somehow, this bitterness is entirely different. It is unfamiliar and frightening. Caleb wonders, _is this what healing tastes like?_

“If I say it then you’ll leave.”

“How so?”

“You cannot stay forever.”

Molly sighs, looking out of the window for a brief moment and then back. “Depends on what you mean by staying.”

There’s a moment’s pause. “Okay.” Caleb scratches his beard. “What do _you_ mean?”

Molly shrugs, playing with the jewels on his horns. “Means you won’t be alone, means I’ll be watching over you. All of you.” Then he smiles, gentle in both his words and demeanor. “Look for lavender, and you’ll know.”

Caleb ought to react to the statement, but with the swing of the carriage and Molly’s fiddling with his jewelry something else catches his attention. He reaches into his inside pocket, fingers slowly searching, frightened both of what they might and might not find. Then, they catch on something. Cool metal. He pulls it out slowly. 

Molly looks down at the trinket Caleb holds in his hand and scoffs. “I was wondering where that went.”

“S-So this is yours?” he asks, stretching it out slightly. 

“Well, duh.”

His eyes flit to the charm and then back at Molly. He stretches it further out. 

Molly looks at him, maybe a bit sad and tilts his head. “Keep it. Consider it a gift.”

“But how—”

“Shh.” Molly slowly reaches forward and takes Caleb’s hands into his own. “It doesn’t matter. None of that stuff matters. I know you want to understand reality, you want to bend it so badly to your will and undo what you did to your parents. The thing is, some things just _are,_ and you have to learn how to be okay with that.”

The weight seems to pull him down and every inch of his body _aches_ so much. He doesn’t want to say goodbye. The world owed Molly more time, after everything he did for it. He deserved so much more than what he got. The world owed the both of them more time. Yasha deserved to see him one more time. Some part of him is even willing to admit that he himself deserved a chance at something, which he suspects might’ve made him very happy in the distant future.

“Listen to me, Caleb,” says Molly, stern, but still so warm. “The world is fickle and bullshit and it sucks and no one ever gets what they ‘deserve’, but no one deserves anything. You do your best to do some good in this world and you find ways to be happy and that’s it. There’s no time for regrets. If you want something, you get it. If you love someone, if you care for them, then you say it. All that stuff. Life’s too short. I would know.”

His eyes close, the touch of their hands keep him grounded, but Caleb can feel himself sinking further. “Hah, you could’ve said this days ago. Would’ve made for a much shorter life lesson.”

_I’m glad you didn’t. I’m so glad you didn’t._

“Yeah, well, maybe I had my own motives.”

Caleb opens his eyes and then Molly lets go of their hands, leaning back in his seat. There are little crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and his smile is a lopsided one, comforting. He looks like he knows it all, the smug bastard. Then again, Caleb thinks that might be true.

“Goodbye, Mollymauk.” The word is so painful, he wonders if it wouldn’t be less painful to die, but somewhere, it feels good, too.

He gives him a slow nod. “See you around, Caleb.”

Then, he’s gone, as if he were never there. Beau still sleeps, now even beginning to lightly snore. It still hurts, it might hurt for the rest of his life, and he’s not a changed man, not really. He won’t be affectionate and warm and loving, he won’t tell his friends that he loves them every day, but something _is_ different. On any other day, Beau’s snoring would earn her a good—but not hard—kick to her shin. Today he marvels over the fact that they trust each other enough to sleep together in this way. 

  
_Yes,_ Caleb thinks, _you always left a place better than you found it. I guess that included people, too._


	6. leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _and when i grow to be a poppy in the graveyard i will send you all my love upon the breeze  
>  and if the breeze won't blow your way, i will be the sun  
> and if the sun won't shine your way, i will be the rain  
> and if the rain won't wash away all your aches and pains  
> i will find some other way to tell you  
> "you're okay"_
> 
> i have never loved someone - my brightest diamond

_I made the earth remember him. Something will be here._

Caduceus had said it only a few minutes past and Caleb wished to ask what he meant, but the curious being had already left, heading back to the cart as if he could have known that they would need the space. In all honesty, Caleb’s gut feeling is still confused about that one. He seems unpredictable by any and all means and that’s all he can read so far, but he also seems well-intentioned. That will have to be enough for the time being.

“You guys,” Jester asks. Her voice is barely audible over the light howling breeze and her silent tone. She’s been so quiet ever since... 

“Yeah?” Fjord replies, coming to take her shoulder.

“Can we, uhm.” She sniffles, wiping away a few tears from her face. “Can we all hug? I feel like Molly would’ve wanted all of his friends, us, to hug.”

Beau nods, already wrapping her arms so tightly around Jester. Fjord comes, too, enveloping them both. Nott, who has now jumped out of Caleb’s arms, finds her place in between their legs. For the briefest moment he must pause, but Jester is right, this is precisely what Molly would have suggested, were he with them at this moment. Caleb also has a suspicion that he is. 

So, he goes in, finds a space made for him in the cluster, that they have all left _for_ him because he was Molly’s friend, because he is _their_ friend. He feels warm, and it feels nice, like it should, like he’d hoped it would.

“Do you think he’s happy? Wherever he is?” Beau asks, muffled by fabric and bodies. 

Caleb looks up, not even thinking about why, but then he sees it. By the grave, a little bush has grown forth and within a few more seconds a little lavender bud has appeared. It grows alone, but the colour stands out against the dirty snow. The wind lightly shakes it, but it seems otherwise undisturbed, both by the cold and the wind.

_Something will be here._

In the distance there is a shape and two scimitars that shimmer in the light as they’re smoothly twirled around in the air by skilled hands. The figure jumps on occasion, hitting his feet together in the air and then continuing his steady journey, his back facing the group. There’s a hint of carefree laughter carried over the wind.

Mollymauk Tealeaf disappears beyond the rolling hills, upwards and onwards to better times, but never too far from home. 

  
“ _Ja,_ I think he is.”


End file.
